


Latte

by haisai_andagii



Category: All New X-Factor, X-Factor (Comics), X-Factor Investigations - Fandom
Genre: M/M, gamquick, quickbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haisai_andagii/pseuds/haisai_andagii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the infamous Serval X-Factor Press Conference, Quicksilver and Rictor catch up for the first time after Pietro tried to restore Julio’s power via the stolen Terrigen Crystals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Latte

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheGreatCatsby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/gifts).



 

 

 

 

The snow fell thickly, blanketing Arlington in unending white.  Pietro skidded to a stop in front of the cafe.  A wave of snow arched high and hit several very angry passersby.

 

"Jerk!" shouted a thoroughly soaked little girl

"My apologies."  He meant it, even if his face said otherwise. "I am in a hurry."

Pietro yanked open the cafe door, the bell tinkling as he entered.

Nondescript jazz music served as the soundtrack for a gaggle of selfie-taking teenage girls in yoga pants and Ugg boots; a mob of bearded, middle-aged, self-important fools wrote their “novels” on a high-end laptops; a flock of wealthy housewives, donning expensive peacoats and designer infinity scarves, debated the merits of a sample sale.

Pietro sighed, wished he could be anywhere but here and quickly scanned the cafe for his contact. 

In the far corner, sat a young man scowling and wearing his long, brown hair in a sloppy knot piled onto of his head. He was reading the newspaper, chewing his thumb as he no doubt contemplated the never-ending insanity that was the state of their world.

Pietro took a deep breath - the scent of espresso and heavy cream so thick in the air he could taste them - and started to walk over.  He took one step and nearly collided with someone.

"Welcome to Commonplace Coffee Chain!  Care to try our seasonal fare, sir?"

Pietro wrinkled his nose at the overly cheery, apron adorned youth impeding his path.  The young man smiled brightly and held out a sample tray of cakes, cookies, and coffees covered in so much whipped cream that Pietro felt his own blood sugar rising by simply looking at it.

"No,"  he said, his tone clipped.

"Won’t you please try out -"

"Go away."

Pietro tucked five dollars into the kid’s apron pocket and gently pushed him aside.  He made his way to the back towards the man, who peaked from behind his newspaper at the sound of some approaching.  The man grunted; his look of displeasure now replaced with a expression of absolute disgust.

"Mr. Maximoff," the man said, his lip curling.  "I thought I smelled Krasnaja Moskva and unbearable priggishness."

"You flatter me, Richter." Pietro returned, tossing his hat onto the table none-to-gently.  "You look well for a grown man that voluntarily wears fingerless gloves."

"Well, you look like Magneto in desperate need of a sandwich," Richter sneered.

"And you look like you’ve finally mastered the fundamentals of soap and hot water," Pietro returned with equal venom and vigor.  They glared at each other, the tension between them so strong that a patron nearby dumped her e-reader into her flee market satchel and scampered off.

Richter sighed and tilted his chin at the seat in front of him.

"Sit down, asshole."

Pietro took it.  He folded his arms across his chest as he continued to stare at his hostile date.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"You called _me_ here, Pietro,” Richter sighed, rolling his eyes.  “Or rather, Gav said you called him and insisted that I come here.  What the hell do you want?”

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence - the din of the cafe filling for the word that hung precariously on Pietro’s quivering tongue.

"Yes, well…" the speedster started slowly, his arms unfolding. "I want to apologize to you, Julio."

"For nearly killing me and mutant kind with your god complex?"

"Yes," Pietro said, his eyes falling to his lap.  "It was my fault: Manipulating Wanda, M-Day, stealing the crystals from the Inhumans to restore mutant powers, and getting them killed for it…"

He quieted as the lump in his throat grew tight.  Pietro was afraid to speak, afraid his voice would betray him.  He screwed up his courage and continued:

"Whether I was in my right mind or not, what I did was unacceptable.  All I can do is apologize and do better."

"I don’t know if I can forgive you though, Pete..." said Richter, drumming his fingers on the table.

"I am not asking for that.  I am not asking for anything really," the speedster returned softly.  "I need to own up for what I did regardless.  I have no one to blame but myself."

"You killed that kid, Magneto Jr."

"I know."

"He fucking exploded like a hot dog in a microwave."

"I know…"

Richter looked at him, his brown eyes burrowing into the speedster’s for a moment.

"It’s fine," he huffed, sitting back into his chair. "It’s fine.  Wanda restored our powers and after that nonsense with the Phoenix, mutant kind is getting back to normal… I had a check up with Dr. McCoy a while back.  He said part of the reason you went fucking nuts is because your mind and body are built for speed and when you didn’t have your powers…"

"…I couldn’t function," Pietro finished for him.  It was true.  It was one of the main reasons he had attempted suicide after his run-in with Spider-Man in mutant town.  After a lifetime of living full-throttle, losing his speed was like crashing into a brick wall.  Nothing made sense to him anymore; his body, his mind - they were alien to him.  Pietro felt disconnected from the world and from reality as if he was living in a nightmare and the only way out was through oblivion.

Suddenly, Pietro felt something soft press against his cheek.  Richter was wiping his face with a handkerchief.  Slowly, he took it from him as Richter pressed it into his hand.  He did not realize he had started crying.  

"S-sorry," he hiccuped, dabbing his eyes.

"For what?  It’s a great day when someone can bring the mighty grump, Pietro Maximoff, to tears.  Reminds me that you’re actually human…"

"Are you and Gaveedra still…" Pietro trailed off and blew his nose into the handkerchief.  He was desperate to change the topic.

"Together? Yes…" his companion replied, eager to move on too more cheerful subjects as well.

"Does he really have hollow bones?"

Richter chuckled.

"Like a damn bird," he returned, folding up his newspaper and tucking it under his arm.  "I hear you are fucking Remy Lebeau."

Pietro went still; his skin was as white as his hair.

"H-how-"

"Lorna and I still talk.  She talks a lot about you," he explained, rising from his seat.  "Sadly, it’s mostly good things and she’s the number one reason I haven’t brought this place down around your arrogant ears. She says your little girl is here and that she’s been helping you getting your shit together too."

He grasped Pietro’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"I have to go meet Gav for some holiday shopping, so…  Take care of yourself, Pete."

"You too, Julio…"

A small smile pulled at the corner of Richter’s lips.  And then, he walked away and out the door into the snowy night.

Pietro sat back in his chair, hands still holding the handkerchief.  He closed his eyes, letting the soft hiss of the cappuccino maker and the faint chatter of the baristas wash over him.

Forgiveness was possible. 

Even if it took one painfully slow step at a time.


End file.
